


What is Lost, What is Left, and What may yet be Restored

by JanuaryBlue



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ascians (Final Fantasy XIV), F/M, Feels, Fluff, In which I wax lyrical for literally over 1000 words, It's gonna get kinda trippy I'm warning you now, Mind Sex, Other, Other characters are referenced but do not appear, POV Second Person, Soul Sex, Starlight Celebration (Final Fantasy XIV), The Echo (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/pseuds/JanuaryBlue
Summary: What gift does one give to an immortal being made of aether who values neither power nor possessions such as you are able to acquire?For one such as Lahabrea, naught holds his interest besides matters of great and cosmic importance, matters of destiny and chosen heroes, long-held secrets of ancient civilizations.And you.
Relationships: Lahabrea (Final Fantasy XIV)/Reader, Lahabrea/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	What is Lost, What is Left, and What may yet be Restored

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ozma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozma/gifts).



The Starlight Celebration is coming up. And you need to get Lahabrea a gift.

If you were to _ask_ him about what he wanted – well, you already knew what he’d say, which made it all the harder.

Zodiark’s return. The Rejoining of worlds. Hydaelyn’s demise. _Why_ he wants these things so badly, you still cannot tell – though his devotion to Him, eerily similar and at once not at all similar to your own service towards Hydaelyn, is painfully reminiscent of those poor pitiful members of the beast tribes, helplessly enthralled.

No doubt if you were to point out the similarity, he’d make some vain accusation towards Hydaelyn of a similar nature.

That strange enthrallment Primals exhibited on those around them; the nature of the Echo – or the Gift, as Lahabrea calls it – and how it confers immunity to Primal influence, the way the Ascians all seemed to have the Echo, but some Ascians were stronger than others, even among those with red masks…

Hydaelyn, whose name was the same as the world you lived in – the Mothercrystal. And Zodiark, whose name you had never heard before, who had never appeared in the whole of recorded history, who was the target of this unwavering dedication of Paragons themselves older than all recorded history.

Circles within circles. You dare not ask Lahabrea to share, not with things as they are; it is unlikely he would tell you, in any case. The Ascians keep their knowledge close, and their secrets even closer.

And ever do they look down on you “mortals” for… well, you’d be hard pressed to name a thing about humanity and society that Lahabrea _didn’t_ have some biting remark about. Even scholarly pursuits, which he seemed to have something resembling respect for, he often derides as being disappointing, shallow, or otherwise not good enough for whatever impossible standards he seems to be judging everyone by.

No, Lahabrea doesn’t think much of mortals. Of people like you.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Lahabrea is not expecting a gift. He is probably aware, at least distantly, of the tradition. And he has no intention of going through with it himself. Despite the Scions and your various other allies showing you warmth and kindness, the person whom you cared for the most –

The person who _knew you_ the most –

He has no gift prepared for you.

(maybe that’s why you want to do it. to prove him wrong. mortals aren’t stupid and predictable and selfish. you thought hard about this, you knew he would not expect it, and you knew you would receive nothing in return.)

Finding something to give Lahabrea as a gift isn’t just difficult. It’s _frustrating._ There’s no one you can ask, no references or avenues of interest to pursue. The man _seriously_ needs some hobbies, but you would have to establish those some other time. A gift was meant to make someone happy as they are, not something that would perhaps make them happy in the future.

So, what things make Lahabrea happy?

Zodiark. Not useful. Darkness, maybe? Where would you _get_ some trinket or bauble aspected to the Dark? And even if you did, how could it compare to his own exceptional grasp and alignment with the element? Magical knowledge or theories – those held the most promise, but you would be hard pressed to come upon some knowledge of magic that Lahabrea did not already possess.

Material objects would be pointless entirely. You’re not even sure if Lahabrea _has_ any possessions. If Ascians keep possessions. If they do, they probably don’t care about them very much, keeping them only for utility, until their use has faded. Something like Tupsimati, he might appreciate, but handing over an artifact of such power is out of the question, even if you could come across something that was yours to give.

They wear ceremonial robes and masks – you’ve never seen him without them, even. You would not be surprised to hear Lahabrea knew his mask better than his own face. You certainly did. Just asking to see it from him prompted no end of lectures on the superficiality of appearances and how reading faces was something only fools would bother with, because any competent thinker would express themselves with their _words,_ and anyone who could not, was not worth listening to.

You almost get what he means, if only because he uses his words _so much._ You can’t imagine not recognizing his voice, the way he words things, even, in writing or out loud, after having spent so long around him.

(under no circumstances will you ever tell him so. what if he takes it as a compliment and becomes insufferable? worse, what if he _doesn’t,_ and chides you for “arrogance”?)

What do you give him? What _can_ you give him? Someone who has no need for material possessions. Someone who knows almost everything, including secrets _you’d_ kill to discover. What can you do for him? He’s _made of aether._ He doesn’t much desire cuddling or intimacy or even sex.

That’s not to say he doesn’t enjoy it; Lahabrea is a surprisingly skilled and adventurous lover when you take him to bed. You’d worry that he was humoring you, but Lahabrea was adept in that matter as well – irately demanding you speak your worries before he goes any further, making his intentions clear from the very start. He is not quite the sensitive type, but he _is_ the direct type, and he is well able to tell when others are not direct with him.

Your partner enjoys sex but does not seek it out or initiate it. The drive simply isn’t there. Perhaps it is part of his nature as a being made of aether. He’s never come to you in another’s body; whether he is aware of how you would disapprove of such a thing, or he personally would not want to be with you wearing another man’s body, you know not.

There’s nothing you can do _to_ him or _with_ him that would constitute a gift – something purely for his own enjoyment and pleasure. That’s what it has to be. Something purely about _him_ and what he wants, not something you enjoyed that he indulged in because you initiated it.

But if there’s anything that can please your immaterial lover, it would have to be something immaterial. Something that you can do or express; something whose appeal came not from being touched or seen or heard, but by being known or experienced.

Doesn’t all experience come from the senses? How does one perceive that they have received a gift, if not through because their various forms of detecting the world around them tell them so? Be it by aether senses or his own very nebulous concept of “form” and “touch” with his aether-made body, Lahabrea relies on his senses just as well, but he _does_ seem to scorn the physical and revere the aethereal…

But aether physically exists, and in fact could be perceived without the particular sensitivity to it that Ascians and individuals like Krile had. There were even special devices that let you see it. Though perhaps that would not be the same as Lahabrea’s senses, but how could you ever know?

Yet more circles within circles.

(it’s the sort of thing he would like, actually. lahabrea has a fondness for philosophical debates, you’ve discovered. he’s actually quite an obliging, engaging partner. when he’s in the mood for it.)

A whole month goes by with you thinking and thinking about it, discarding one idea after another.

Two ideas collude to produce what you eventually deem a fitting gift.

First; the Echo.

As time goes on, you understand it more and more. And less and less – it works differently between individuals. The Ascians all have it, but their behavior is not at all dissimilar to those enthralled – and anyone with the Echo could not be enthralled.

Those who have the Echo had the ability manifest in various ways. Minfillia could see the future. Krile had the power to sense aether and even the soul. The Sahagin priest you had seen used it to possess another of his race – meaning it was most likely also by the Echo that the Ascians could possess their hosts.

Your own Echo is shockingly lackluster in comparison. Visions of the past – but only of memories, and only the memories of those individuals around you. You couldn’t even choose when they happened. Granted, it had a tendency to activate whenever you needed it – and to show you useful information – but it was nothing that wasn’t replicable with plain communication. Hardly ‘transcendent’, as Lahabrea likes to claim.

But it _is_ one of the few things Lahabrea has a healthy respect – reverence, even – for. Those precious few ‘Gifted’ individuals seem to be the only ones he considers remotely worth his time, elevated above normal ‘mortals’ in his eyes. So, if there is something you can give him, with your ‘Gift’; that might be something he would appreciate. All you want is for him to feel something approaching happiness, because of what you choose to give him.

Second; _your_ Echo.

It’s your own memory that prompts you to consider an unusual avenue of exchange. What you could give an Ascian, that he would actually be pleased to receive.

You finish off a final visit with the Sky Pirates; everything is finished, the whole debacle with the Weeping City and Dun Scaith, and you are able to bid your relatively new friends farewell.

All is well that ends well, after all. Your journeys are certain to lead you far from even these distant reaches untouched by man. But flying out into the sunset, you’re reminded of a not dissimilar scene.

It’s a strange thing, to be flying so high. In particular, when the sun dipped past the horizon – a horizon so terribly low beneath you, suspended as you are high above –

Nightfall comes quickly enough. The bloom of the sunset on the horizon, a strike of orange and red bleeding through a blue sky like a starburst. And still it sinks, bruising into purple as the sun lowers further until only the echo of its light peeks over the line of the ground so far below you.

Dark blue closes in, chasing it away; where once was a streak of color resounding through the sky is now a fading memory. It happens slowly, minutely, and then all at once the night has fallen, closing in entirely on the memory of the sun long gone.

High up as you are, the sky is everywhere you look. The deepest, most inky blue imaginable.

It is as though you have been caught in a flood, surrounded by a blanket of the most profound midnight black you had ever seen. So dark and beautiful, so all-encompassing. In every direction, as far as was visible; you are far out and it is dark enough that not even the floating islands obstruct your vision.

And with the sun gone, they do reveal themselves.

Stars. Stars everywhere.

Everywhere, in no recognizable pattern or constellation, crowding out the darkness with myriad tiny brilliances, glimmering away. The chill of the air doesn’t bother them, nor the pitch black sky; it is in their nature to shine in the darkness, unafraid and radiant.

There is no twinkle, no waver. From a void more endless and infinite than the one which swallowed that lost world, empty beyond reckoning, these countless motes of light held fast, unending. Like the most miniature of holes poked in the darkest of canvases, as though through them shines the glory of some unimaginable realm beyond. Beyond even that endless darkness.

Awash with those tiny jewels, the night is set alight with color; reds and blues, far brighter than the lonely empty sky beyond; oranges and violets in sweet hues. Colors burst as though illuminated in the very air where the stars congregate most closely, blending with one another in stark but smooth gradients, a canvas of untold beauty; a work of art beyond any pigment, for it shone with light of its own.

It looks so beautiful. _So beautiful._ This vision surrounds you, inundates you; the sky is vast now that you are flying, an artwork which stretches further than your eyes can take in. Impossibly large, all-encompassing and unwavering in its cool, distant resplendence.

Almost dizzying in its expanse, your heart lifts in your chest as you turn your head; more and more you see, more colors, more places where stars pool and glow in different shapes, glowing together in different intensities, setting alight different colors. One burst of red that shines pink until it turns white at the place where the most stars pool, another a smooth wave of blue which blends into purples and violets. All patterns a masterful splash of vividness against a blackened blue canvas.

There’s so much of it, so much more than could ever be drawn or dreamt of; all at once you want to cry and laugh. So faraway from humankind, so high up, so wrapped up in this sight that fills your entire field of vision and then some, everywhere you look, everywhere you can see or go –

It’s all _light._ Radiant and resplendent light, luminescent against a canvas of darkness that is somehow swallowed by these motes of whiteness, these tiny myriad stars, instead of the other way around.

Tiny points of brightness, light from sources so far away you could not travel there in a thousand thousand lifetimes. And still it’s made its way here, from all the way into that blackness.

You hold out a hand, as though to see if this is real – but it all just looks more unreal with your hand before it. They’re impossibly far away, unimaginably so, and yet you have never seen them any other way; the dust of stars behind fingers that seem so –

Laughter falls out into the silent night air, and for a moment it sounds utterly alien and striking to your ears – before you realize it’s your own breathy chuckle. Strange and halting, even to yourself.

Had it been that long?

With each breath, chilled air fills your lungs. But it heats quickly on contact, every pulse of your heartbeat driving away the cold, lifting in your chest, _pulling_ at heartstrings and yet not. You laugh some more, because there’s no one out here to hear you, faraway and indulging in this small and trifling delight.

Really, it’s just the sky. It’s _pretty,_ but –

With your eyes on the sight before you, the thought dies in your mind, unable to continue. Pretty, beautiful – awe-inspiring, even. All those words just pale in comparison to this pull, to this feeling in your core where the cold of the world could not reach, to the stretch you feel through your arm, into your hand and to the very tips of your fingers.

Your hand looks so _strange_ against that background, superimposed before a sight as aethereal as can be beheld by human vision. Your own hand, reaching out, grasping, so obviously unsuited and yet –

And yet reaching out all the same.

It looks like it could almost be close, if you could feel anything against your fingers but air. If you could feel any warmth, any touch of the sharp beauty of those endless jewels, any points of the twinkling diamonds that look like they might just be out of reach, _just_ a bit too far to grasp.

It's still an elation like no other, a strange joy mixed with remorse. You’d never expected to hold them, but you can _see –_ you can _see,_ and they look _so beautiful, so close,_ if you could just-!

The warmth that blooms inside you is far greater than the chill that bites at your fingertips, reaching out so hopefully for those tiny lights so seemingly barely out of reach. Nothing will ever touch your outstretched hand, you know, and yet still…

Still, you reach out, feeling the heat inside stretch through your muscles, the vibrant pulse of emotion so pure and undiluted; a simple, unadulterated joy. Smooth and rolling, beating in your chest with ease, flitting through your whole body, washing away your worries.

_Admiration. Happiness. Delight._

It was hard to remember sometimes, but –

This world is beautiful. There is beauty right before you, even if you cannot touch it. Spread wide for your eyes, as far as you could see. Vast and unchanging in its glory on high, the heavens nearly incomprehensible in magnitude, and yet _right there_ for you to look at, as much as you want.

The simple joy of looking upon something you found pretty – something you found moving, impressive, the inexplicable smile it brought to your face just to _see_ this thing. A small happiness, but a true one, a pure one that washes over you like the stars over this sky, bathing you in a feeling that seems to lift you even more.

All your worries feel… distant, now. Not gone, and if you wished to dwell upon them you could surely be sucked in, but with your view entirely encompassed by this sight, you find it easier to be swept up in other things. In simple things.

Simple, but beautiful all the same. Enough to light up your heart, make your fingers curl in a helpless wistful longing, your lips curve in a light happiness that does not leave you easily, not while you can see this.

When day breaks, you are almost disappointed; but you still remember, at least a little, where you can go, where this is. Even if you are unlikely to return; the vision itself, the memory of it, you will keep close to your heart; grasping with your mind as you could not with your hands.

It is a memory you will treasure for the remainder of your life, no matter what beings or landscapes you come across in your travels; just this simple thing which seemed so terribly profound, so beautiful beyond all imagining or description. And you can picture it clearly all the same.

...And what is such a treasure for, if not for sharing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be just one super-long oneshot - I'm prone to those, and as a binger of epic proportions I still believe it would have been a nicer reading experience all at once, however... I already had to scrap a good portion of this fic because it was based off silly headcanons that were completely invalidated in Shb. It's unlikely to happen again, sure, but if I wait I don't know if I'll ever get this done, having done such a poor job of it last year. XD
> 
> Additionally, I do have certain parts segmented a bit anyways so it should make for a pleasant multichapter read, still. Properly, there should be two chapters, and I have no intention of cutting a chapter in half where it shouldn't be, so most of the fic will be in the second chapter and maybe the third chapter as sort of an epilogue? I wanted to give myself room to move scenes around if need be. 
> 
> Anyways, hope you all enjoyed! I've been writing just so many fics for Christmas and this one is by far the longest and most... thought-intensive? of them all, so it's no surprise it ended up taking longer. In theory, this should be finished within a week or so (or just the second chapter should be posted), so Please Look Forward To It ;) 
> 
> And a slightly belated Happy Holidays to you all! <3


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